


Did You Get My Text?

by JadeRachelle



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeRachelle/pseuds/JadeRachelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim tries to grab Sherlock's attention in an unexpected way. At first it seems crude but Sherlock grows quite fond of the unconventional exchanges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Did You Get My Text?

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by Tumblr user Mischiefjoker's headcanon.

They're a constant thing, these messages. From a number that isn't saved as a contact, nameless digits in his phone that accompany the texts. They are never routine, always at random and forever enough to almost force his façade to crack. If he were a lesser man he would surely blush or show other physical ticks that would give away the nature of these messages. But he is Sherlock Holmes and it takes more than a few sordid texts to get through his mask.

He remembers when it started. It threw him. He knew that James Moriarty was a changeable man, unpredictable and not one for convention but still, that first text message had been so out of place, so surprising, that Sherlock had been shaken. He had at first assumed that someone else was the sender, not Jim himself but he knew that the criminal would never allow another soul to touch his phone. He then played with the idea that Jim had intended for the personal admission to reach someone other than Sherlock but, as with the first theory, he knew that Jim wouldn't make such a mistake. He even entertained the idea, incredibly briefly, that the number he had memorised for Jim Moriarty was wrong and such the message was a mistake on both parts despite the signature initials as a footnote; not from Jim and not for Sherlock. He dismissed it all entirely and ignored the message.

_I'm thinking of you; your mouth against mine, your fingers in my hair. JM_

He had recieved another a few hours later, the same personal content from the same number but this time addressing him personally.

_Don't tell me you've never thought of it, Sherlock. Your lips pressed to mine, my hands on your hips as I press my body against yours. JM_

He hadn't known how to respond to such a strange message. He had again, ignored it. There hadn't been any more recieved for almost twentyfour hours after that and Sherlock had assumed that his silence had been understood as a rejection of such interactions.

Until he recieved the picture.

It wasn't as vulgar as it could have been but it had still taken Sherlock by surprise when he opened the message. It had been a snapshot of a man's groin, covered by pants with a well known brand stamped across the waistband, erection clearly outlined by the tight fabric. Sherlock had tried to ignore it but found his fingers tapping away to open the picture again and again, eyes narrowed in confusion and interest as he stared at it.

He had raised his phone to his face for what felt like the thousandth time, eyebrows furrowed as he studied the picture, when his phone vibrated in his hand.

_You're new to this, I'm sure, but the proper protocol is to return the favour. JM_

Sherlock had scoffed at that but had finally replied. Bluntly.

_Why should I? SH_

The response was immediate.

_For fun. JM_

_I don't see how it's fun. SH_

_It's this or murder. JM_

Sherlock had found himself momentarily thinking of ignoring the messages, letting Jim continue with his usual attempt to get his attention with the dangerous puzzles and loss of innocent lives. A voice that sounded suspiciously like John entered his head, don't even think about it... don't give him a reason to kill.

_Is that a threat? SH_

Jim had only taken seconds to reply, Sherlock's phone vibrating in his hand moments after his message appeared as sent.

_No, I'm not going to force you. I want you to indulge in this, I want you to enjoy it. JM_

He hadn't replied to that. Jim hadn't pushed it.

Days passed and Sherlock heard nothing from the criminal but still found himself flicking through his phone, pausing on the photo he had been sent. He knew that people often participated in such actions; sexing and emailing personal pictures, erotic words and the like but he had never even thought of doing such a thing. Granted, there had never been a situation where such an action would have been expected of Sherlock, but none the less, he'd never once considered it.

The next message he had recieved had again taken him by surprise. He had deleted the photograph Jim had sent him and fought the urge to reread the two messages in which Jim had told him he was thinking of Sherlock.

It had been recieved while Sherlock was in the lab of St. Barts; microscope before him, slide in place, analysis of pollen running on the computer beside him and his mind working a million miles an hour.

_Saw you in The Sun, page eight. You look delectable in green. I'm sure you look even better in nothing though. JM_

Sherlock had resisted the urge to roll his eyes and ignored the text, continuing with his work.

Another was recieved a few minutes later and Sherlock clenched his jaw, frustrated at the interruption.

_Stop ignoring me Sherlock, come and play. JM_

Sherlock glanced around quickly, making sure that the lab was empty and typed out a quick reply.

_What do you want from me? SH_

The idea that Jim could actually be seriously interested in such a common and particularly odd interaction was a strange one. Why would Jim Moriarty of all people desire such things from him? His physical relief had been few and far between, never really living up to expectations and never leaving him wanting more. As such he'd cut it entirely from his life, having learnt to control his libido and push desires away, brandishing them as unnecessary and a waste of time. He'd thought most people of higher intellect had shared that view, had deemed the act of sex as something partaken by lower minds and an expenditure that was not worth the effort and time. Perhaps he'd been wrong. Perhaps he was the only one who thought such things. If James Moriarty still found himself interested in sex then who was to say that it really was as low as Sherlock had forced himself to believe?

He was startled from his thoughts as he recieved the reply to his question, pulse quickening by a miniscule amount, whether from nervousness or interest he couldn't tell.

_Everything, Sherlock. But for now? I want you to come to me and let me devour you. I want you to drop that mask and show me some expression. JM_

Sherlock had raised an eyebrow, glanced around again, somewhat curious and decided to play along.

That had been the turning point. He knew he could have simply ignored the messages, the lewd texts and provocative photos. He could have dismissed the words, the attempts at grabbing his attention and forcing a reaction. But he hadn't. He had played into Jim Moriarty's game and, loathe as he was to admit it even to himself; he enjoyed it immensely.

The first time he had been affected physically still stood clear in his mind. He had been home, laying on the lounge in his robe while John fussed over tea. His phone had vibrated in his pocket, he had been expecting a text from Lestrade and was shocked to find that the content was nothing close to cold case work.

_I'm thinking of you. Thinking of catching those lips with mine and moving down your neck. Thinking of pushing aside the fabric of your shirt and dropping down to my knees. You'd like it, I promise. I would make you feel so good. JM_

Rather than ignore the suggestive confession, Sherlock had replied against his better judgement.

_Of course it would be me that would make you want to kneel. SH_

Only you, Sherlock. On my knees just for you. Looking up to see only you. Moving to mouth only your crotch as my fingers pull at your fly. Only you, there's only ever been you. JM

Sherlock had been taken aback but flattered and had indeed, continued.

_Only ever been me? Then you must be inexperienced. What makes you think I'd want to allow myself to be touched by a novice? SH_

Only ever thoughts of you, darling. I've had others, but none compare to even fantasies of you. I'm no amateur. JM

Sherlock had felt his curiosity peak and had stood, phone in hand and swept into his bedroom to avoid John's prying eyes, shutting and locking the door behind him.

_And these fantasies, do they occur regularly? SH_

Increasingly so. JM

And they all feature me? SH

In various scenarios. JM

Sherlock had pursed his lips, intrigued at this.

_Examples, Moriarty. SH_

From there on out the messages had streamed, growing more and more vulgar.

_... Pushing you up against the wall of a building and dropping down. Stroking your cock and looking up at you from the ground. JM_

Wrapping my mouth around you and closing my eyes, licking and sucking with my fingers digging into your hips to hold you still. JM

Tongue lapping at you as I slide forward, your cock hitting the back of my throat as you shake with pleasure. JM

Sherlock's mind had immediately supplied images to accompany the words and he felt the tell tale signs of arousal sweep over him; the increased heart rate, pulse quickening, the sensation of blood being redirected as his skin warmed.

He hadn't replied to Jim, instead he locked his phone and calmly set it down on his bedside table. He took a deep breath to calm himself but the images had already taken hold, swimming in his mind as his blood pulsed southward despite his efforts to remain unaffected.

That had been the beginning of his slide down. Down into the filthy depths of carnal pleasure and forbidden wants. He had rarely given in to desire, usually ignoring it or distracting himself but those words, the image of Jim, of all people, kneeling before him and taking Sherlock into his mouth, they were so different and intriguing that he just couldn't shake them.

He had, with a sigh of defeat and a promise that this was a once off, let his hand wander down to the swelling organ between his legs and slipped his fingers below the waistband of his pants. It hadn't taken much, a few rough strokes as his mind supplied the image of the criminal's mouth replacing his own hand and he was coming as he bit his lip.

He had expected to feel ashamed, dirty, guilty, sick. But all he felt was satisfaction and a curiosity that he hadn't felt before.

It had been only a few days before Sherlock recieved another text. It had been a surprise and had made him cough as his tea went down his throat wrong.

_Good morning. JM_

Accompanying the text had been a photo. Far cruder than the last, it had been an image of what was clearly Jim Moriarty's clenched fist wrapped around his own erection.   
It only escalated from there.

Sherlock would recieve at random, sordid texts detailing exactly what Jim was thinking or doing. These often ended with Sherlock encouraging him to divulge more and more as he stroked himself behind a locked door. Photos were a rare occurance but always appreciated, stimulating Sherlock's imagination and arousal.

Though Sherlock knew it was wrong on a hundred different levels, the messages from Jim, the photos, the effects, the increased tissue consumption and locked doors, he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the challenge of trying to keep a straight face at crime scenes when he recieved the messages. He enjoyed forcing his body to remain calm when in public and he recieved the admissions. He enjoyed the competition of keeping tells at bay when he was affected by the photos. It was wrong, filthy, should have been disturbing but Sherlock adored them. He loved the challenge, the fight, the unexpected arousal that Jim's messages caused and he wasn't going to tell him to stop any time soon.


End file.
